


Not Going To Die Young (This Time)

by queerhazeleyes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Trans Female Character, Trans lady Jehan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerhazeleyes/pseuds/queerhazeleyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Grantaire and Enjolras's last semester of University. Enjolras's student activist organization, the ABCs, is going strong. Meanwhile Eponine is trying to keep her younger brother Gavroche in school (and on a better educational track than she trod). Marius is creepily focused on Cosette, who is more interested in women anyway. Javert is working through the real reason behind his obsession with Jean Valjean. Happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sing With Me

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is part of my NaNo this year and tbh I'm not 100% sure where this is going? There's going to be fluff, there's going to be parts that break your heart (never permanently, I promise), there might even be smut. I also promise that chapters that deal with challenging/potentially triggering issues will be warned for up front, and if there's anything that I don't warn for that anyone thinks needs one (hopefully there won't be any of this, I'm running everything by three people first) just let me know!

Grantaire knocked and stuck his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched up against the cold. He’d meant to wear a scarf against the wind, but Enjolras had stolen it off the coat rack on his way to class that morning. Enjolras’ own scarf, of course, had been stolen earlier that winter by their friend Courfeyrac, who had promptly lost it somewhere at his fraternity. No one had bothered to replace the lost scarf, which meant whoever made it out of the apartment first usually took Grantaire’s, and Enjolras was almost always up and gone to campus before Grantaire.

 Grantaire frowned and knocked again, louder this time. From the other side of the door he could hear light, quick footsteps before it was yanked open to reveal a tousle-headed boy of about eleven. He immediately stepped to the side to let Grantaire in.

 “Eponine’s still getting dressed,” the boy said, closing the door behind Grantaire and returning to the dining table, where his math textbook and a calculator were set out. “I think she stayed late at work, she was still out when I got home from school.”

 Grantaire nodded and wandered to the fridge. “Shouldn’t you still be _at_ school?” he asked the boy, finding a beer and cracking it open.

 “Half day. Dunno why.” He squinted at the book and tapped his pencil against his mouth before scribbling down the equation and starting to work through it. “What’s the meeting about today?”

 “No meeting, Gavroche,” Eponine said, coming out of her bedroom with her hands buried in her hair, braiding it quickly and messily. She wore a thick gray sweater and her second-best jeans, which had slightly fewer holes in them than her best jeans but only slightly more holes than her worst jeans. “I’m just helping R with a thing for his class.” She tied the braid off and turned to frown at Grantaire. “If you’re stealing my beer, then you’re buying me a drink later to make up for it,” she said.

 Gavroche twisted around in his seat to make puppy dog eyes at Grantaire. “Is she really helping you with class, or do you guys not want me at a meeting tonight?” Behind him, Eponine rolled her eyes.

 “There’s really no meeting tonight, Gavroche,” Grantaire promised, taking another pull of the stolen beer. It was sometimes a little strange being in Eponine’s apartment, since once upon a time (okay, more like eighteen months ago) it had been his place. That was before he’d moved in with his boyfriend, though, and Eponine had pretty much saved his ass then by taking over the lease. It worked well for her, too; she had convinced her parents to enroll her little brother in the nearby public middle school, which meant he didn’t have to change schools every time their parents moved (which was three times since Eponine had taken the apartment, with a fourth looking close on the horizon). He was also spending more time with Eponine and her friends - mostly Grantaire, Enjolras and their group. The kid even tagged along to most of their meetings, so long as he finished his homework (Eponine’s condition) and didn’t distract them (Enjolras’ condition). For some reason, Gavroche was genuinely interested in the political issues they discussed, and even occasionally piped in with reasonable suggestions or intelligent questions. Sometimes Grantaire thought the preteen was more informed and invested than Marius, the freshman who had joined their club that fall.

 The boy pouted and turned back to his math homework. Eponine shook her head at his behavior and ruffled his hair affectionately before grabbing her bag. “There’s spaghetti and meatballs in the fridge,” she told Gavroche. “Give me a call if you decide to walk home, otherwise I should be back by like, seven. You know where the blankets and pillows are.”

 “Yeah,” Gavroche replied, still pouting.

 Grantaire finished off the beer. “Need help pulling out the futon?” he offered, setting down the empty bottle.

 “I can get it,” Gavroche answered sullenly. Eponine cleared her throat loudly and raised an eyebrow when he looked up. “Thank you for offering to help, Grantaire,” he finished in a more pleasant tone.

 “Alrighty. Let’s get going.” Eponine grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter and looped a scarf around her neck before leaving the apartment with Grantaire.

* * *

 At the front of a large lecture hall, a gray-haired and gently balding professor nattered on about how weather systems were affected by the Earth’s rotation. At least, that’s what Enjolras thought he was talking about; he’d stopped paying attention about three tangents ago. _That’s what you get for leaving general requirement classes ‘til senior year,_ Grantaire had said (and kept saying) when the blonde man complained about the dull science class. And it didn’t help that the course was filled with freshmen. Biting back a yawn that was half boredom, half weariness, Enjolras surveyed the room. His seat had been shifting closer to the back of the hall as the semester passed and he was finally in the seat furthest from the professor. Some of the students looked as bored as Enjolras, browsing the internet on their phones, doodling in their notebooks, or, in one or two cases, simply napping.

 Those in the frontmost rows were true to form, diligently taking notes, half with the textbook open beneath their binders for reference. One blonde girl about halfway back struck a chord of familiarity that puzzled Enjolras until she twisted her head side to side, stretching her neck and allowing him to glimpse her face. He was fairly certain at that point that she was the girl Marius, the newest member of his student club, was supposedly in love with. _Poor girl_ , he thought. Marius was a nice enough guy, maybe a bit misguided, but he had latched onto this girl he’d seen a handful of times like a barnacle onto the hull of a passing ship. Enjolras wasn’t sure Marius even knew her name. He did know they hadn’t spoken - if such a miraculous thing had happened, Enjolras was sure Marius would refuse to shut up about it.

 A few rows in front of Enjolras was a young man, his undercut dyed half pink, half purple and a string of beads patterned in a rainbow hanging from one ear. Instead of paying attention to the lecturer (or even bothering to pretend) he was reading a graphic novel, though not one Enjolras could recognize from a distance. It looked like something Eponine would borrow from the library.

 Enjolras set his class notebook to one side (not abandoned, he assured himself, not put away, just making the most of the time available), and pulled a second notebook out of the messenger bag at his feet, this one more than half-filled, the cover bent and frayed. He flipped it open to the most recent page, where he had begun marking down the agenda for the next meeting of his student activist organization, the ABCs. He spent the rest of the class period fleshing it out and marking down possibilities for fundraisers which he could discuss with the rest of the group, and tuned back into the professor’s rambling in time to catch the reminder that all assignments were posted on the class’s Blackboard page and that they could go five minutes early.

* * *

Enjolras could hear the guitar drifting out of his apartment from the landing and smiled. Grantaire was home. Without bothering to dig for his key—they usually left the door unlocked when one of them was home—he entered the apartment to a startling sight. Grantaire was indeed home and playing his guitar, sprawled across the couch. He was also totally nude. Eponine sat facing him, straddling one of their dining chairs backwards with a huge sketchpad balanced against the chair’s top rail. Two sharpened pencils stuck out of the bun on the back of her head, a third wiggling between the fingers on her left hand while she studied Grantaire intently. Enjolras rolled his eyes at the pair of them, but closed the front door quickly behind himself. Grantaire glanced over the back of the couch at him and his lips twitched into a smile of greeting; Eponine didn’t acknowledge him.

 He set his messenger bag down on their dining table, careful not to disturb the piles of paper that were already neatly stacked there, and cleared his throat pointedly. “Eponine, is there a reason you’re drawing Grantaire naked?” he asked.

 “Need to practice my life drawing,” she replied, setting pencil to paper with light, quick strokes. “I could do you next if you’re feeling left out, darling.” She frowned. “C sharp, not C, Grantaire.”

 Grantaire repeated the measure correctly, eyes dancing with amusement as Enjolras flushed slightly. “No, thank you,” Enjolras muttered hotly. “I believe I would rather keep my clothes on.” Grantaire made an odd squawking noise that sounded suspiciously like an aborted cackle. Enjolras narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend, who took a sudden interest in the finger placement on the neck of his guitar, though Eponine hadn’t pointed out any other errors; the girl had perfect pitch, which meant she could catch the mistakes Grantaire had made so many times he no longer heard them. “And why are you two doing this here rather than doing so at, say, Eponine’s perfectly serviceable apartment?” Enjolras forced his own eyes to one of the collections of notes on the table, when they wanted to linger instead along the musician’s lean sides, the curve of his hip cut half out of view by the body of the guitar. “I do have studying to do, and you’re making it rather difficult to focus.” He could feel twin spots of heat burn in his cheeks, which he hid by flipping a thick textbook open to his last marker and burying his nose in it.

 Eponine snorted, still focused on her drawing. “My apartment is currently occupied by a certain eleven-year-old boy who, one, can’t keep his trap shut, and two, really doesn’t need to see his older sister drawing your boyfriend’s dick.”

 “I thought you couldn’t see my dick from that angle,” piped up Grantaire, abandoning his practice piece to look curiously at Eponine.

 “Not the whole thing,” she said absently. “Your guitar is mostly in the way. Hold still.”

 Grantaire pouted, strumming out the beginning of a new song that had Enjolras glancing up suspiciously. _That_ was not one of his assigned compositions.

 Apparently Eponine recognized it as well, because she tucked her pencil into her pocket with a sigh. “I have enough that I can finish it later,” she said, snapping her sketchpad shut. “R, quit it with the earworm of the week and see if you can get Loverboy to loosen up; he’s talking like he’s got a stick up his ass and I’m pretty sure it has less to do with your naked self than me being between him and your naked self.” She made quick work of putting the sketchpad in her bag and gathering up her scarf and coat, then dropped a kiss on Grantaire’s cheek. “Later, boys,” she said. With a wink to Grantaire, she was gone.

 Without looking up from his textbook, Enjolras heard the door snick shut and the music stop. He cleared his throat out of habit, and asked, “Will you be putting on pants at any point in the near future?”

 Grantaire chuckled, the sound not quite coming from the direction of the couch. “If you plan on taking off your coat in a similar time frame,” he replied. Enjolras blushed more fiercely when he realized the other was right; he was still wearing his thin, patched coat and Grantaire’s scarf. He tugged the scarf off first, and when he reached for the zipper on his coat Grantaire’s hands were already there, drawing it off. “You know, love, you could seriously use a new coat. If mine was in this bad a state, I’d be getting so many lectures from you.”

 Enjolras stood to hang coat and scarf by the door, and was caught between relief and disappointment to see that Grantaire had pulled on a pair of sweatpants. “Winter’s nearly over,” he said defensively. “Getting a new coat now would be less than practical.”

 Grantaire caught him in a kiss when he turned back around. The musician’s lips were chapped and dry, but also warm and familiar, and Enjolras sank into them, arms skimming up Grantaire’s bare chest to wrap around his shoulders. When they broke apart, it was with a soft laugh. “You don’t always have to be totally practical, E,” Grantaire pointed out, resting his forehead against Enjolras’. “You need a new coat, and ‘nearly over’ could mean another month or more ‘til the weather actually improves.”

 Enjolras sighed. “I’ll think about it.” He kissed Grantaire again, lingering and tasting hints of wine on the other man’s tongue. It was a familiar taste, wine and Grantaire, and it was late enough in the afternoon that Enjolras couldn’t fault him for indulging in a glass (or, more likely, two). He licked his lips when they pulled apart. “Should I order a pizza?”

 Grantaire nodded, beginning to grope at Enjolras’s shirt buttons. “Pizza sounds wonderful,” he said against the blonde’s throat. “You sound better. We can order dinner a little later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just made a few small edits - correcting punctuation, cleaning up repeated words, things like that. Will probably do the same with the next chapter soon as I hear back from the lovely lady who's going through and suggesting edits for me. Chapter three is well-begun and should be posted within the week?


	2. Garden Of The Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette goes on her first date with Marius and meets the members of the ABC

Cosette took another sip of her coffee and shifted in her seat, a little unnerved by the way Marius was staring at her—like she was the only star in a pitch-black sky. “So,” she began, groping for anything to talk about. “Do you have any plans for tonight? Anything going on?”

Marius frowned a little. “Well, some people I know are having a meeting at the Musain; you know, that little bar just off campus?”

Cosette latched onto the proffered thread like it was a life raft. “What kind of meeting?” she asked eagerly.

“They’re a sort of student activist group; they’ve done a lot of protests and the like on campus this year. I think tonight’s meeting is going to be about a rally Enjolras wants to do this summer.” Marius shrugged.

Cosette leaned across the table, eyes alight. “That sounds fascinating!” she said.

Marius raised his eyebrows in shock. “It does?” he asked. He had been drifting further from the ABCs lately and had only remembered about the meeting because of the reminder Courfeyrac had posted on Facebook that afternoon. His eyes drifted across the blonde girl’s pretty round face and landed on her hands lying on the table. He reached out to take them, but before he could Cosette had wrapped them both around her coffee mug.

“Yeah!” Cosette enthused, grateful not only for a topic of conversation, but also the possibility of other people around to dilute the intensity of Marius’s attentions. “Can I come along? What time does it start?”

“Uh.” Marius pulled out his phone to check. “At five. So, about half an hour.” He looked at her curiously. “You really want to go?”

“If that’s okay,” she said, looking a little afraid that he might say no and either sentence her to another awkward round of attempted conversation (that always seemed to ground to a halt with him paying her unnecessary, embarrassing compliments) or force her to create a reason to end the date and hurry home.

“Sure, sure we can go.”

***

They walked together from the coffee shop to the Musain, Cosette’s hands buried in her coat pockets. “So, if they’re a student organization,” she asked, watching the sidewalk in front of her and trying to ignore Marius walking so close they were nearly bumping into each other, “then why are they meeting off campus?”

Marius tripped over an uneven piece of pavement and reluctantly started to watch where he put his feet instead of the way Cosette’s curls bounced with every step and glinted slightly in the afternoon sun. “I guess since the rally they’re planning tonight is going to be during the summer, it’s not really a school thing?” he replied. “Most meetings are on campus, they take over one of the conference rooms in the student center, up on the second floor. But stuff like this they do off-campus. Usually at the Musain too, I think Bossuet is dating the bartender there.”

They reached the Musain then, a rather plain brick building with two large windows hung with gauzy pale drapes, and Marius rushed ahead to open the door for Cosette. She restrained the instinct to tell him off, that if they had kept up their previous pace, she would have reached the door first and would have been perfectly capable of opening it herself, instead murmuring a quiet, polite “thanks” and ducking inside. The interior of the Musain was warm, with wood and rounded edges everywhere. Two large, sturdy tables were pushed together in the back corner, a handful of young men crowded around them. There was another cluster of young people at the wide curved bar, chatting and flirting with the tall laughing brunette woman who was putting together their drinks. Marius put one hand on the small of Cosette’s back. “Take your coat?” he asked. She nodded and shrugged out of the long jacket she’d worn, unwinding her soft blue scarf from around her neck and handing that to Marius as well to hang on the coat rack she was just then noticing next to the bar. She cast her eyes about, taking in the rest of the large room. Aside from the two groups, there were a few other patrons eating dinner at small tables, though they seemed to be giving a decent berth to the back corner.

“Marius!” called one of the men by the bar, who Cosette vaguely recognized from the start of the year when she had been considering pledging to a sorority. He had brown hair that he wore just long enough that it curled up at the ends, a beer in one hand and a pleased, surprised smile on his round face. “Didn’t think you’d come!” He walked over and offered his empty hand to Cosette. “Courfeyrac, hi! You must be the one Marius has been mooning over.” Cosette took his hand firmly, unable to keep a genuine smile from creeping onto her own face. Courfeyrac’s genuine friendliness was hard to resist.

“Cosette. Bit shorter and more to the point.”

“Cosette,” Courfeyrac repeated. “Pleasure to meet you.” He released her hand and addressed them both. “We’re still waiting on Eponine, think she’s got Gavroche with her, then we’ll get started. Something to drink?” Marius waved off his offer, but Cosette asked for a Coke. She wasn’t sold on Marius, but so far she liked his friends. At the bar, she got introduced to the girl serving drinks, Musichetta, who had a warm rolling London accent, a dark haired man with a broken lump of a nose but striking green eyes and just the impression of ink on his wrists peeking out from his shirt cuffs named Grantaire, a gorgeous girl whose long red hair was frizzing out of the braid tossed over her shoulder called Jehanne, and a nervous young man by the name of Joly, who Cosette could tell by the looks he sent the bartender over the rim of his glass (affection, longing, and just a little awe) that he was either dating her or desperately wanted to be.

With drinks in hand, everyone except Grantaire migrated to the tables, where Cosette was met with more happy greetings and another round of whirlwind introductions: tall blonde Enjolras, commanding attention without effort from his place in the corner of the room, laid back and bright eyed Combeferre on Enjolras’s right, who kept pushing his glasses up his nose by the bridge and ending up with shiny smears of fingerprint on the lenses instead, Fueilly with hair so short it was hard to tell the color who had crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, Bossuet with no hair at all and dark brown eyes just a few shades deeper than his skin and a brilliant smile that made an appearance when Joly sank into the chair beside him, and Bahorel with an empty beer bottle in front of him and a nearly-full one at his lips. Cosette smiled at them all, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that trickled up her spine as everyone looked between her and Marius. She wanted to shout “It’s just one date! First date!” But that would be rude and she held her tongue, instead sliding into the offered chair and keeping her hands occupied on the glass of soda in front of her so Marius couldn’t try to hold her hand.

Enjolras had checked his watch twice when the bar’s door opened and a boy of about twelve darted inside followed by a dark haired girl with shadows under her eyes like she never got enough sleep. She wore a long, thin coat and carried an oversized purse slung over one shoulder, which bounced against her hip. She paused at the bar to speak to Musichetta and Grantaire and hung her coat, revealing a faded long-sleeved purple tee shirt and patched jeans that clung to her legs like a second skin. Cosette blushed and turned back in time to see the boy get dragged into Bossuet’s lap for a hug.

“Gavroche!” the bald man said with another flash of that glorious smile. “Where have you been?”

“Haven’t seen you in ages,” Joly added with a slight frown. “You haven’t been sick?”

“Nah,” Gavroche said, squirming out of Bousset’s lap and running a hand through his mussed blonde hair before he snagged a nearby chair. “Detention. I still say it wasn’t my fault, I wouldn’t have cussed if I knew Mrs. H was standing right there!”

“You’d think he’d learn after the first four times,” drawled the brunette girl. She was leaning against Grantaire, who was now seated at the far end of the table between Bahorel and Courfeyrac. Cosette couldn’t help notice that his chair was both closest to the bar and directly across the table from where Enjolras sat, and her eyes lingered briefly on his forearms—he had pushed the sleeves of his white henley up to his elbows to reveal intricate swirls of color tattooed up from his wrists. Then the girl stepped away, catching Cosette’s gaze once again. “Sorry about being late, Enjolras,” she said. “Did I miss anything?”

“Not a thing,” Enjolras replied, gesturing at the only remaining chair, which she took. “Okay then, let’s get started.”

Cosette listened as Enjolras began by talking about general business, fundraisers, collaborations with other student groups, and the ABCs’ most recent activities before moving on to outline his idea for a rally in July. Everything about him commanded attention, from the way he gestured to the almost theatrical rise and fall of his voice to the fire in his blue eyes. He wore a white button-down shirt and dark slacks, much nicer than any of the other students, but rather than making him seem out of place the ensemble added another layer of credibility to his words. Marius grumbled quietly in her ear once or twice, stopping when she elbowed him sharply in the side. Courfeyrac had a notebook out and seemed to be taking down notes on the discussion. The rest of the group spoke up to point out things that might be overlooked; Grantaire didn’t so much speak up as snort into his bottle of beer (that Musichetta was keeping him supplied with) until Combeferre said with a roll of his eyes “We _know_ , Grantaire, it’s the first meeting, there’s going to be holes.” Grantaire only shrugged at that, but quieted down afterwards. Gavroche sat quietly to the side, listening more intently than Cosette suspected Marius was.

After about half an hour Enjolras waved down the discussion. “We’ll pick up on that more next time, for now I think we’re good to start moving forward on the idea?” Murmurs of assent sounded up and down the table. “Good! Okay. So, for the rest of the meeting, Eponine has offered to teach us a little something.” He gestured for the brunette girl to stand, and took his own seat.

Eponine pushed her chair back out of the way and stood, clearing her throat nervously and wiping her hands on her thighs. “Right. So, since I’m the only one here without a rap sheet—” most everyone chuckled at that, but Marius exclaimed “I don’t!” in an offended tone. There was another smattering of laughter and someone added “Neither does Jehanne.”

“Me neither,” Cosette said softly, a smile on her face. _Oh, what would her father say about her associating with all these young men with criminal histories!_

“Okay, okay,” Eponine was laughing too. “Still, I’m guessing we’d all like to avoid as many future arrests as we can? So, I’m going to teach you how to get out of cuffs!” There were interested noises from the group and a few people leaned forward in their seats. Eponine set her bag on the tabletop and fished out a pair of steel handcuffs and a couple large zip ties. “We’ll start with these,” she said, indicating the cuffs. “Fueilly, if you would?” She handed them to the boy next to her and turned her back on him, presenting him with her arms. Fueilly grinned and made a production of slipping the steel around Eponine’s slim wrists; when the cuffs were secure she spoke over her shoulder at the table. “You’ll need a paper clip or a bobby pin,” she said. “I’ve got one in my hair, but can’t really reach it with my hands behind my back, so you might need a little help.”

Musichetta was at the table collecting empty glasses, and she paused to pull a bobby pin out of Eponine’s hair. The simple twist it had been in fell apart. Eponine grinned. “Thank you, ‘Chetta,” she said when the bartender pressed it into her hand.

“Welcome.” Musichetta turned to Enjolras, plucking an empty water glass from his hand. “Bring you another, never fear,” she said to his protesting expression.

Eponine proceeded to show the group how to bend the lock pick properly and work it into the small lock of the cuffs, freeing both hands fairly quickly. Next she had Fueilly wrap one of the zip ties around her wrists so she could demonstrate how to break them apart with a sharp downward thrust, then how to use a bobby pin to get out of those, too. “If you can’t get the force to break them apart,” she said with a smile to Jehanne—the red haired girl blushed—“then you can do this instead. Don’t have to worry about upper body strength or proper angles.” She had Fueilly tie her hands together in front of her this time and slid the unbent side of her bobby pin into the lock of the zip tie, explaining as she went. “There’s a little stick-up bit of plastic in there,” she said, “and it’s what keeps these bastards from loosening once they’re on. You just gotta push that down, and…” She pulled her hands apart and the zip tie slid loose easily. “Ta-da!” There was a smattering of applause.

“Now we just have to hope they use zip ties next time the police come to break up our protests,” drawled Grantaire. On her last pass by the table, Musichetta had cleared away his empty beer bottles and given him a large glass of water, which Grantaire eyed with suspicion but sipped at anyway. “Because I think even with the demonstration, you’re still the only one who could pull off your trick with the real thing.” Cosette frowned at his rudeness, thinking Eponine was quite generous to show them the knack of the thing anyway.

“I can do it too!” piped up Gavroche from where he had been sitting bored and inattentive since his sister took over the meeting.

“You won’t be around when we get arrested, I’d hope,” Enjolras said with one elegantly raised eyebrow.

The boy shrunk into his chair with a shrug. “Not for the arresting part,” he muttered.

Eponine smirked, looking both at her little brother and at Grantaire. “If you’re nervous, R, we can practice,” she said, teasing directed at the man who was still frowning at his water glass (though by this point he had drank nearly half). Jehanne made a soft noise and raised her hand. Eponine softened. “Of course I’ll help you practice, Jehanne, don’t worry,” she said. Jehanne nodded her thanks and smiled.

“Well!” Enjolras said, standing up once more. “I’d say we all learned something tonight. Next meeting will be on Thursday at two, in our usual room on campus.” He glanced at his watch and picked up the messenger bag at his feet. “I’ve got to run, I have a meeting with one of my professors to discuss a paper.” His nice clothes made sense now; Cosette smiled and shook his hand again as he stopped to thank her for coming when he passed. At the end of the table he pulled Grantaire to his feet and spoke quietly to the man, but Cosette was distracted from watching their interaction by Marius who had wrapped an arm around the back of her chair.

“Well?” he asked her, “What did you think?”

Cosette bent forward in her seat, out of the circle of his arm. “Enjolras is an incredible speaker,” she said honestly. “Are all the meetings like this?”

Marius shrugged and stood. “Near enough.” He stepped aside, obviously intending her to stand and follow him. She did so with reluctance; she would much rather stay and chat with the other students who were still seated at the table. “Enjolras pontificates, Grantaire argues with him, everyone else treats his word as gospel.” Marius set his hand at the small of Cosette’s back again and faced everyone at the tables. “Nice seeing you all,” he said, raising his voice and Cosette realized that over the chatter, Marius’s previous words hadn’t been heard by anyone else. She forced a smile, which softened into something nearly real when everyone turned and began to protest their imminent exit.

“Stay! Have dinner with us,” invited Combeferre, adjusting his glasses again. “Enjolras always runs out at the end of meetings, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave.” Everyone else was nodding.

Cosette bit her lip. She _did_ want to stay and keep chatting with everyone, but if she wanted to stay would Marius insist on leaving anyway? “I should get home,” she said as she made a decision to end the awkward date. “It’s just me and my dad, and he’s expecting me for dinner. I hate making him eat alone.”

“Next time, then,” said Grantaire, who was seated again, collar off-kilter. Cosette tried to remember if it had been in order earlier in the night; she was almost certain it had been, but she hadn’t paid enough attention to be sure.

“Next time,” she promised eagerly. “I loved meeting you all.”

Goodbyes were called as Marius steered her towards the coat rack and out the door.

***

“You didn’t have to do that,” Marius told her when they were out in the cold again, Cosette wrapping her scarf so it protected her ears from the wind.

“Do what?” she asked a little sharply.

“Make them think you’re going to go to more meetings,” he said, as though it were obvious. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

 _Screw it_ , she thought. She didn’t live very far from the Musain, but it would probably be easier to just let him walk her there and then say a firm goodbye at the door than try to shake him off on the street. “This way,” she said. “And I probably will go to more meetings. They seem like really nice people, and it sounds like they’re working on achieving some real change.”

Marius looked at her astonished and nearly tripped on the sidewalk. “I thought you were just being polite. Cosette, you did hear the part where most of the people in that room have _criminal records_ , right?”

“So what?” she replied. “By the sound of it, most of the arrests were related to their activism and not, I don’t know, drunkenness or violence like I suspect most of the misdemeanors picked up around campus are.”

“They’re still getting themselves _arrested_ ,” Marius said. “I can’t believe you would be interested in an organization like that.”

“Well, you don’t know me very well, do you Marius?” she bit back. She could see the turn for her house just ahead. “Today was what, the third time we’ve spoken?”

“Yes, but—” He had to hurry to keep up with her increased pace. “Look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t planning on attending their meeting tonight until it came up over coffee. Maybe it was a bit much for a first date.”

Cosette stopped just outside the front gate of her house. “The meeting was the most enjoyable part of the date,” she said.

Marius’s brow was furrowed, eyes wide as though she was speaking some foreign language he didn’t understand. “What about we just see a movie next time?” he offered, leaning in to kiss her. She jerked away.

“I don’t think there’s going to be a next time, Marius,” she said slowly. “We obviously value different things. Thank you for taking me to the meeting and walking me home, but that’s all.”

“But Cosette,” he protested, stepping closer again. “If we just tried again—”

“No. I’m sorry, but I’m just not interested.” She put one hand on the gate latch, the other firmly clutching her keys inside her coat pocket. “Goodnight Marius.” She watched to see if he would try and follow her, opening the gate blindly and grateful when he didn’t follow her step backwards into the yard.

***

Eponine put away her handcuffs, doing some quick math in her head before she dared look at Gavroche. She knew he would be trying not to appear too hopeful at the prospect of dinner at the Musain, but nothing would stop his face from falling if she had to tell him no. _I got good tips last night,_ she thought, _but some of that will have to go towards the utilities bill, it’s due next week. Rent is still two weeks out, and payday is before then; I put in a little overtime at the art store this week, if I get some good tips at least three more nights before rent is due and don’t let R drag me out for drinks…_ She turned around, determined, to see Fueilly showing Gavroche how to fold a napkin into a chicken. She let out the breath she had been holding, pleased her brother was distracted for the moment.

“Staying?” asked Combeferre quietly from her other side. He had taken Enjolras’s empty chair.

“We could use dinner,” she said with a smile. “Besides, it’s good for Gavroche to hang out with all you guys. Maybe he’ll decide school is worth it, and he’ll want to go to college.” Which brought another set of problems all its own, of who would pay and how they could afford it, but Eponine set those thoughts aside for another day. Instead she snagged one of the menus Musichetta had left on the table and skimmed it, though she knew the whole thing by heart. “Who was the new girl?” she asked offhanded, glad she didn’t need to be specific because it would have come out as _that breathtaking blonde girl with corkscrew curls and makeup that had to be done by magic because who can get their eyeliner that precise who would take an hour to undress because of all the layers she wore but it would be worth it it really would to see if the freckles dusted across her nose went anywhere else._

Combeferre wasn’t fooled. “The girl Marius has been pining after for months?” he said distinctly. “Her name’s Cosette.”

“She didn’t actually seem very interested in Pontmercy, though, did she?” Bossuet pointed out. He was sipping at a glass of wine with one hand draped over the back of Joly’s neck, massaging gently. “Kept him at a distance as much as she could.” Eponine’s heart caught itself mid-plummet.

“Did you see her lean away when he did the whole arm-around-the-shoulders thing?” Jehanne added, frowning down at her own menu. “Lot of don’t-touch-me vibes.”

“Grantaire, what was it Enjolras had to say to you before he left?” Courfeyrac asked curiously. He was finishing up his notes on the meeting.

Grantaire smirked, looking very pleased with himself. “Oh, the usual. See you at home, he’ll probably eat during his meeting, and if I don’t stop fellating my bottles during meetings he’s going to have Musichetta take away my beer.”

“You lot are a bunch of horrid gossips,” Musichetta scolded gently, coming up to their table with a pad of paper. “Who’s staying for dinner?”

Gavroche’s head swiveled hard to Eponine, and he punched the air when he spotted the menu in her hand. “Score!” he exclaimed, and turned back to Musichetta. “Can I have hot wings, please please please?”


End file.
